Everlasting Arms
by America.Mer
Summary: Finally, in all the time we've known each other, we're both good. Really good. We sorted everything out. We're becoming the people I knew we could. Literati, Post-series, Canon.
1. Chapter 1

It's the twenty sixth, with Christmas safely out of the way, and all efforts are turned towards the wedding. Rory's the Maid of Honour, and seems to have been left to deal with most of the practicalities, as Lorelai figures it's her prerogative at her own wedding not to have to work that much. And everyone knows Rory would go over everything that was done anyway.

The whole town is heavy with the anticipation of it. After all, it's been far too many years coming.

With so much left to do, the day arrives at once, and Rory races around the Dragonfly with Sookie, desperately trying to make sure everything is perfect. Michel accompanies them, trying and failing to pretend that he is not every bit as concerned as they are. A lot of time is also spent trying to avoid Emily, who even Michel has grudgingly admitted is making herself a bit of a nuisance.

And all the while, she skips in and out of the cabin where Lorelai is getting ready, the same place her grandparents were exiled to on the night Luke and Lorelai finally got together, checking on her, and subduing her mother's panics about tripping in heels and lipstick colours. She's gone with Vicious Trollop. At least Emily likes it.

And finally, before running off to change into on her dress and do her hair, she also finds Luke.

'We're going to be related in a few hours,' She says. But it's more surprising to her that they aren't already, and she says as much. He's monosyllabic, but he hugs her, and his eyes are suspiciously watery. She should probably have saved it for the reception.

* * *

Lorelai walks down the aisle, on Richard's arm, in a dress even nicer than her previous ones. And as she enters, Rory, having just got to the front of the church, remembers to look over at Luke. Katherine Heigl was right.

* * *

The speeches that follow the service are funny and sad and sweet and surprisingly short enough. Having writers on both sides of the wedding party has its advantages.

The unavoidable nature of the head table should have made for an incredibly uncomfortable, at best, dinner, something which Rory had been more or less resigned to.

Jess is Best Man, because Luke doesn't really have many other friends. Case in point: TJ is also a groomsman. Rory's grandparents, Sookie and Jackson, Liz, April and Michel make up the rest of it. Neither Luke nor Lorelai had been pleased with the idea of adding their siblings or parents respectively, but it had been grudgingly acknowledged that they had little choice.

But Rory is surprised to realise, after a few minutes of holding her breath, that nobody seems immediately ready to kill anyone else. The grandparents are holding up alright, with minimal indignant sniffing. The table as a whole is managing not to explode, or even come near to it.

However, the decision to gin and bear it, as well as the open bar might be responsible for making everything a little bit less painful.

Lorelai and Luke leave after their first dance as a married couple, a waltz, and Rory goes to sit down at their now empty table. Everyone else seems to be dancing or talking or just somewhere else.

She looks around, and realises how comfortable she is. It's been a month of everyone she loves around, and she reflects that it's nice to be home. They say it takes a village, and most of her village are right here.

'Hey,' says a voice she knows well, 'Wanna dance?'

He looks a little uncomfortable, but not grossly so.

'Teenage Jess would be horrified,' Rory replies, standing up and taking his hand.

'Teenage Jess would also not be here' He counters, as the new music starts.

Apparently dancing runs in the family.

'I don't know,' She says, with a mockingly serious face as they dance, 'I seem to remember him gracing the town with his presence at many a town festivities.'

'Ah,' he says, copying her expression, 'But there were some serious ulterior motives there.'

She feels the blood rush up to her cheeks a little, the ridiculous, unexpected embarrassment she's feeling heightened somewhat by their proximity, and trying not to let him throw her off entirely, she counters, 'Well yes, I've heard this is the new and improved Jess.'

She had meant it as a joke, but there was a sarcastic edge in her voice that surprised her. She catches his eye, trying to assess how badly it came out. He nods curtly, and she wonders if she's just re-established the uncomfortable barrier that's been there this whole holiday.

The song ends. He says, 'Can you believe they finally did it?' as they walk back by a banner that says 'Just Married,' which Emily had found particularly distasteful.

'Not at all.' They sit down at their table, and she adds upon reflection 'Although it took them long enough.'

'At least they got there,' He says, and then, after a few seconds, 'I'm going to get something to drink, want anything?'

When he's gone, Lane brings her kids come up and say goodbye to their Aunt Rory. 'Zack's taking them home,' Lane says, kissing each of their foreheads before passing them over to Zack, who's come to collect them.

Walking back over, Jess hands Rory her drink; 'Hey, they're big,' he says.

After a few seconds of confusion, Lane replies, 'They've started walking and everything.'

'I'm still mad I missed it,' Rory says, sitting back down with Lane. They begin hashing over the details of the wedding, the dresses, the music, the food, the soon-to-be drunken townspeople, until they catch back up to the present.

'So Jess is friendly now?' Lane asks after a momentary lull in conversation. Rory notices he's not there anymore, but sitting on the floor on the other side of the room, talking to a little girl in a dress. It takes Rory a few seconds to realise the girl is Doula.

Rory sighs, 'Apparently, yeah, he's friendly now. Or, today anyway. And he cares about little kids. And can survive a dinner with my family. And his family.'

'Well, technically they're the same thing now, you know that right?' Lane replies, an evil glint in her eyes, 'He's your cousin now.'

'Ugh,' Rory replies, hiding her face in her arms, leaning across the table, 'I can't believe I went out with my cousin.'

'For two people who never seemed like they were the small town type, it's very small town,' Lane agrees, laughing at her friend's reaction.

* * *

Hours and a few too many drinks later, most of the extraneous people have gone home, or gone to bed, and only the core of Stars Hollow was left.

Lane has just left, and Rory is looking around the room, her heart swelling with the familiarity of it, while also appreciating even in her mildly intoxicated state that talking to Miss Patty and Babette, who have clearly drunk far more than the rest of them (it's the punch) is going to be a bad idea.

Behind them though, she notices him, reading. It's the familiarity.

'Hey,' she says, 'Good book?'

He turns the book over, putting it down on the table, and she sits down next to him. 'It's alright,' he replies.

'Better than the fountainhead?' she asks, coyly, taking the drink that's sitting in front of him and having a sip.

They talk about nothing and everything, like they're sixteen again, when they were friends and nothing had gone wrong yet.

'So there's this book,' He says finally, carefully, a while later.

'A book?'

'Yeah, there's a book. Upstairs. I've got a book.' He's searching for some recognition.

She knows where he's going with this, their old high school standby. 'Right. A book. Upstairs. We should go look at the book.' She stands up.

He finishes his drink, and leads her up.

**A/N Was going to wait a while longer to put this up, until I'd sorted out more of the story, but you know. Why bother.**

**Also, the necessary disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls, or anything remotely to do with it. Shame.**


	2. Chapter 2

He says something, bland and inane, which she doesn't quite register, as they walk up the staircase.

She hears herself reply. Drivel, they're talking crap. It's all pretence. She follows him as he leads her to his door, and waits as he unlocks it.

She tries to think in those few seconds. Caution. She knows she should be cautious. Knows they both have a lot to lose. Knows they've already lost a lot.

Standing in his room, she hovers, still apprehensive, conflicted. When she looks over at him, it's for an answer.

Instead she finds her thoughts reflected in his eyes, and all ideas of caution are lost.

A few seconds pass before he responds. A heartbeat or two for him to adjust, to realise what's happening; that fervently pressed to his lips are hers, which so long ago used to be so familiar. To realise her hand is tangling through his hair, her other hand pressing into his back, pulling them together.

And then he realises he needs her closer, directing her as she backs onto the wall, all the while continuing to kiss her desperately.

Her thinking is not dissimilar as she arches her back against the plastered surface, her hip bones aggressively colliding with his. Still not close enough, she wants more, and wrapping her legs around his waist, she feels him inhale sharply, lips finally tearing away from hers.

He says her name, and it's a question. She feels doubt flickering up inside her again; it frightens her to think that yet again, they may be just out of sync with each other; but it's a fear quickly quelled. She realises he's fighting to restrain himself just as much as she is, he's just as hopeful as she is.

So she stops. Stops thinking, stops stopping.

'I want you,' She replies, in answer. She says this with simplicity and absolute resolve, not letting either of their gaze's drop, before leaning back into him, their lips grazing.

He says her name again, but this time, it's a moan.

* * *

As she sinks into his mattress, she realises she needs his shirt, which her hands are currently roaming underneath, to come off. And her dress. That also needs to go.

He seems to know this too, and so their four hands are now concentrated on the sole task. No progress. They realise freeing themselves of their clothing is going to take their full effort, and reluctantly pull away from each other.

'There should be a clasp,' Rory says, sounding breathless, fiddling and fighting with his shirt buttons, 'Above the zipper.'

Although he seems to find it, he still can't get it to come undone.

'Fuck,' He curses in frustration, under his breath.

Rory giggles, 'Jess, I think our clothes hate us.'

He's about to reply when the clasp finally opens, and he can pull down the stiff zipper, which runs right down her back, to the start of her underwear, brushing her burning skin as he does so.

Somewhat giving up, she pulls his half undone shirt over his head, sighing appreciatively as their skin touches.

He's leaning back into her when she says 'shoes.'

'What?'

'Your shoes.'

He groans; he had forgotten. The laces are leather and the shoes overall no easier to remove than the rest of their clothing.

'I really hate formal clothing,' He mutters somewhat darkly.

'Right now,' She replies, 'Me too.'

* * *

His mouth moves from hers, trailing down her jaw, her neck, her collar bone, cruelly down the middle of her chest; instead removing her bra with unsurprising but still impressive skill, his thumbs flicker teasingly over her nipples, his hands on her sides helping push her up as he continues kissing down her body, stopping only when he reaches the edge of her underwear.

He knows he's driving her crazy and he loves it. He milks the situation for a few seconds longer, before finally looping his fingers into her underwear and taking them off her; continuing to kiss her lower and lower, making her catch her breath, and her fingers clench in his hair, keeping him where he is.

He'd forgotten in all of this, that two could play, and curses himself as she fucks with his mind, her hands only lightly brushing over his boxers; surely taunting him far more than he taunted her, her teeth pulling deliciously at the soft skin on his neck, laughing slightly as he complains.

'Jess,' She smiles mischievously, as she tugs down the waist band of his underwear, 'Shut up.'

* * *

She wakes up, frozen. It takes a few seconds for her to realise where she is, but, after a year and a half on the road, she's used to the confusion.

She remembers where she is in the same moment as she becomes aware of the heavy breathing coming from the other side of the bed; he's fully asleep. The clock on the bedside table says it's four in the morning and there is deadly silence.

She gets up, because there is no way that she's going back to sleep when she's this cold. It occurs to her that maybe she should leave now; avoid the inevitable awkwardness of the morning. Her dress is lying on the floor, deflated.

She could leave, but as she looks over at his sleeping body she realises she doesn't want to. Awkwardness will be nothing new, she figures.

Instead, she walks unsteadily over to the chair his open bag is lying on, and rummages through it. She slips back into bed, his shirt now keeping her warm, and after fighting with the tangled sheets, manages to pull them back up over them.

As she's drifting off, too asleep to think properly, too awake to sleep at once, she feels him move, still unconscious. His arm curls over her body, and he moves up against her, and pulls her close to him. She realises that she feels, intrinsically, in this moment, that she is safe.

**A/N Thanks to everyone who reviewed! And also, I feel like I should explain that the bio is probably about as angsty as this is going to get (as in, it'll be angsty but not more so then that!) Other things: I still don't own anything to do with gilmore girls which is sad but also life. Sex scenes are not really my thing so this is most likely the peak on that front (in future, I think I'll just leave it at implication, it's less awkward) and finally, I do worry that this is rather OOC, so sorry about that! However, I'd also argue that Rory basically never makes hugely responsible (for lack of a better word) relationship decisions so... (please tell me though if you think it's too rediculous cause you're probably right then :))**


	3. Chapter 3

'My shirt?' he asks, with a smile that's a little apprehensive. He's pulling himself up, so he's sitting against the headboard.

Rory looks down at her chest, confused: 'Your shirt,' she confirms. She tries to make her voice sound bright, but even she can hear the uneasiness creeping in.

It's light, and the room can be properly surveyed. Their formal clothes are in lifeless piles which, now, discarded and without the angular shadows of the night, look sad. And above the wreckage there is them.

After a few moments, he laughs quietly. She turns to look at him in confusion, as he explains, 'I never showed you the book.'

'You actually have a book?' she says, confused though her uneasiness has faded.

'What did you think?' he smirks, 'That I just wanted your clothes off?'

'I just wanted my clothes off,' she says, and the minimal blushing that follows is further proof that she's changed in the years since they met. Then she adds 'But tell me about this book?'

Maybe she hasn't changed that much.

* * *

She flips through his books, his nearly illegible scrawl filling the margins of the ones with cracked spines.

She's lost herself in the one he knew she would like when he comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed, hair still dripping.

'I should probably go,' she says somewhat reluctantly, she's only a few pages into the book, and even if manages to find a copy, it won't have the comments written in the side that make it so much more interesting.

'Borrow the book, Rory,' He says, smiling, guessing her thoughts, 'You can give it back to me whenever. We're related now, remember? I doubt this'll be our last holiday together.'

She makes a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a groan, 'Please can everyone stop saying that.'

'Embarrassed that you slept with your cousin?' He teases.

'Gross,' Rory laughs, the awkwardness has gone and they're back to flirty, friendly, why they could never keep apart, 'This is all really Jane Austen now.'

'I'm pretty sure it's more bad soap opera than Austen,' he shakes his head.

'Either way – we went out first,' Rory says.

'Right, that's what we'll tell them when the FBI comes get us for some government psych experiment.'

'Ah, I have a better idea: we'll just show them Kirk,' she laughs, 'Confuse Agent Cooper.'

He smiles appreciatively, before looking more serious and saying, less flip 'I'm never going to think of you as a cousin though.'

'Good to know.'

He's walked over to the door where she's hovering. She can't really think what the appropriate parting words are after a one night stand with – well, Jess, given all their history. She hears his voice, from years ago: '_it is what it is, you, me_'

So fuck appropriate – she kisses him. She's been doing that a lot recently.

'See you around Jess,' she says, as she walks out the door, and it feels like goodbye.

* * *

'Wait, you kissed him again?' Lane asks, as Rory finishes telling her of the developments since the wedding.

'It was a friendly kiss. Minimal tongue,' Rory says, hiding her face in her hands, 'God this is not going to end well, is it?'

'History would say no,' Lane says, but quick to console her friend she adds, 'But this is new, so maybe it'll be different.'

'I'd drink to that, but you can't drink and then I'd be drinking by myself and I have a feeling that's not encouraged,' Rory rambles, flustered.

'Stupid baby,' Lane smiles, before glaring at her stomach.

It always amazes Rory that she and Lane can have such different lives and still be such good friends. Or rather it surprises her that they can be such good friends and still live such different lives. Very Anne and Diana. Although this Diana was also in a rock band.

'So how was he?' Lane asks after a second, switching gear, 'Jess, was he good?'

'Lane!'

'What?'

'You're turning into my mother,' Rory says, shaking her head, before adding, 'And yeah, it was good, he was great.'

'Thank goodness,' Lane says; elaborating due to Rory's confused expression, 'Well can you imagine what a letdown it would be if he wasn't? The whole rebel without a cause thing he had going in high school would have been a complete waste.'

'Lane!' Rory repeats, pretending she's shocked, 'Mrs Kim was right to worry about you being corrupted by the Gilmore way.'

* * *

She walks past the diner that evening, coming back from sitting Kwan and Steve, having forced Lane and Zack to go out while they had her around, before the new baby came.

The diner is closed but the lights are on in the apartment above. She considers walking past, leaving things as they were; they could be finally be done that way. She could see him at Christmas and Thanksgiving and July 4th and they would be polite and talk when they had to. She could close the book, they would have the ending they'd been missing, one that felt real, and not tragic. They never needed to hurt each other again, and they could actually, for the first time, be done.

The door's locked, but she finds the key above the sill, and opens it. The bell rings as the door opens.

'We're closed,' an annoyed voice says from the stairs, 'Remember, you all went to the wedding yesterday.' He crashes through the curtain, double taking when he realises who it is. It's familiar.

'Hi,' he says.

'Hi,' she replies, hovering on the other side of the counter from him, without suppressing the smile that is playing on his lips from the memory too. It's all familiar.


	4. Chapter 4

She takes the beer he hands her, standing in the apartment that they spent so much time in, Senior Year. It feels like a time warp, everything both exactly the same and so different.

Today is strange though, they're in a bubble, with their real lives waiting for them outside the city limits of Stars Hollow. Luke and Lorelai, their compass points growing up, out of town, sorted out, resolved; an example.

And everyone else who lives here, everyone Rory loves and Jess tolerates, has things to get on with, kids, husbands and wives and jobs and lives. They're the only ones in standstill.

'I finished the book,' she says, sitting down on the couch. Of course she did. She tosses it over to him, and a comfortable quiet follows – finally they're able to have comfortable silence, something that had eluded them since the horrific Truncheon run in that still makes Rory feel a little sick when she thinks about it. _I don't deserve this, Rory_.

He's flicking through the paperback absentmindedly, and he realises that there's other handwriting - her handwriting – filling the gaps he had left.

'You're leaving tonight?' She asks after a while.

'Early tomorrow morning, I have to be back in Philly by ten,' He says, 'You're starting your new job soon, right?'

Over Christmas this had come up a little – it was somewhat of a safe topic that they could politely chat about when the occasion call for polite chat, but they haven't yet actually talked about it, and Jess wants to hear her actually talk about it, and sound excited, like he knows she is.

She wants to tell him properly about this too; wants to tell him everything she's ever known or ever suspected about everything she's ever thought, but she knows that's far too dangerous.

They can talk happily, that hasn't gone away. She worries sometimes that one day they'll see each other and not have anything to say – and not because it's awkward, like it's been this week, but because they're different people. They could have been great friends, she realises; if they hadn't always wanted more.

She says something, finally, quietly. About the future and wide open fields and hope that's suprising and scary and libel to go away, but she says it much more poetically, sucinctly, and with a lilt that suggests it's not her own.

'Did you just quote my book at me?' he asks, startled.

They're slipping back into unsafe territory, and a new quiet descends on the small apartment. She's scared to do anything – to have this finish like every ending they've ever had. She shouldn't have come back.

'Look at us, Rory,' he says, hushed, 'We turned into actual adults. I always knew you would do it, but...' He trails away. It had been said before, but men in that family weren't chatty.

'Jess, I've said it before, but I knew you could do it too,' Rory says, looking at the floor, exploiting this strange in between place they were in to push further with them than she thinks she should, 'Do you think we could actually stay in touch this time Jess?'

It's venomless, and said with such honesty that he's not hurt. It's surprising. She feels the need to explain it further, explain everything, 'This isn't because of last night.' Colour spreads to her cheeks at the thought. He's smirking again; it's almost good-natured, and thoroughly Jess.

She's feeling flustered and off her game. She forgets when he's not there, how he always throws her a little. How he makes her a little more herself, and lets her pretend a little less.

And she forgets how much it scares her. But it's been this way for the last six years, and doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, so after a moment of not looking at him, of proper concentration, she manages to summon up what she had wanted to say, aiming for direct honesty.

'Finally, in all the time we've known each other, we're both good. Really good. We sorted everything out. We're becoming the people I knew we could,' She knows everything she's saying is sounding cheesy, but it seems like a now or never kind of topic, 'And what we have going, what we've had going the whole time, the running away, is exhausting. So can we stop leaving each other, please, and for once, actually try to be friends?'

Her monologue now over, she's nervous again. He's silent. She's said far too much, and she knows it. Salt in still open wounds.

'Jess?' She says finally, her embarrassment having turned to annoyance; salt has healing properties, she thinks. He was always frustrating. Everything about him. She couldn't ever be done with him, never put him in a box. She never quite knew what was coming, always stopped a little short of fully understanding him.

'Alright,' He says finally.

'Alright?' she asks. Never fully understanding.

'But as your friend,' He says, the tension dissipating, 'there is literally nothing in Pittsburgh.'

'Misuse of literally,' she laughs.

'Yeah, you wish.'

* * *

She leaves, hugs him goodbye with one hand, the other holding a stack of books she couldn't stop herself from borrowing. The margins are full, spidery handwriting covering the blank space.

'Take care of yourself Jess,' She says.

**A/N short chapter, sorry! next is some Lorelai talk, cause she hasn't been in this enough (or actually at all). Also hieisdragoness18 - good to know! Honestly, I hadn't ever thought it would be a real problem cause in England (where I'm from) you can marry your cousins, blood relatives or not, which is a little weird, but yeah, that would have putten a damper on the plan if they hadn't been able to get married. And finally, generally thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys are fabby and reviews make me happy so please keep it up :)**


	5. Chapter 5

This is the absolute worst fucking part of the job, he thinks. It's only nine, but it's nine in early March, which means the sun's been down for hours and it feels like the middle of the night. The desk lamps a bit crap and the misty winter weather is stopping any useful light from the lamp posts outside filtering in. It's all a bit Dickensian.

Every time the paper work becomes insurmountable like this, he curses himself. This is entirely one of those things that didn't have to happen. And yet it did, every couple of weeks, and he has to lock himself here at the end of the day and deal with it. Well, it was nice to have traditions.

Lack of proper record keeping aside, he's doing well. It's impressive, everyone's impressed. What was he supposed to amount to, really? Bukowski or the beats without the fame – the best he'd ever hoped for. And without the writing, what were they really? Nothing to be proud of.

But it turns out he's been lucky after all. Sure, he works hard, but so do a lot of people, who had a lot less. This was never going to make the big bucks, and they'd be fucking lucky if it ever made it into the village voice – even in passing. Maybe the whole thing would go bottoms up in the next month, or six months, or year. He can't see it lasting forever. But he has a job he actually likes, which pays enough for a place to crash, and he's never counted on either.

So things are good.

Proof positive, he calls Luke most weeks at some point. He could talk to his uncle now, when he knew he wasn't much to be ashamed of.

He realises, even as he's trying to sort out his accounts – and noting finally that maths lessons might have been worth paying more attention in – that he's content. It's not glamorous or particularly thrilling, but it's more than enough for now, to not feel trapped or restless. Contentment, mundane and uninteresting as it may seem to everyone else, was something that had eluded him for so much of his life that it is more than welcome now.

* * *

His cell phone rings as he's almost finished with his paper work – 10 30 – and he's not surprised when he sees, flashing up, that it's Rory.

When he agreed to stay friends with her after the wedding, he did it with the best intentions, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't amount to much. He wasn't sure there was anything to salvage from between them, to form any sort of relationship, beyond the now mandatory politeness that would have had to be endured at family gatherings. And honestly, he doesn't want to spend any more time thinking about Rory, and what she does or doesn't mean to him. That has been over for a long time, and even now, with them friends, if he thinks about it too much he still comes up with answers that he isn't comfortable with.

He picks up the phone – 'Hey,' He says.

They have stayed friends though, or rather, become friends again. It was strange at first, she felt both like a stranger, and like the Rory he had known, better than anyone.

She's just left her office, and she's walking for the bus. Her editor made her re-write her piece for tomorrow's paper at the last minute, and so she's been working all day. He like's hearing about it – she sounds animated when she speaks. Her next piece, they've got her reviewing a ballet. It's not her usual stuff, normally they have her on politics, but there was nobody else to do it.

'The last time I went to a ballet, at Yale – god, did I write a scathing piece. Damn, it was mean. Really mean.'

She still shudders when she thinks of it. It's a little strange, telling him stories like this, but she only notices it abstractly. She's comfortable with him, talking to him. She could probably tell him anything, really. But she wouldn't, too much is too painful. All the same, she feels like she knows him so well, as well as anyone, and yet she's always explaining things, herself, her story to him.

So she tells him about her job in Pittsburgh, about working on a print paper again, about how difficult her boss is, about how much she loves it. She's applying for Columbia's journalism program in the fall, but even if she doesn't get it, she'll be fine here. New York's still elusive, as it is for most of them, twenty four years old in a world tightly run by their parent's generation. But it's a hopefully, sometime in the future – a job at the Times (or any other major daily really.) Overseas correspondence still, she thinks. He says his offer still stands, to chase her down in the Stars Hollow town square yelling at her.

She laughs, 'I'm going to hold you to that one of these days – But you're not allowed to drive my car.'

They can joke about these things now – cars totalled and limbs broken and running away.

She asks what he's up too, and has to coax it out of him. He doesn't tell her half as much as she tells him, but she suspects she's still getting more than most. That's just Jess, she figures.

She chides him for having let all this work pile up, but she's joking, so he doesn't let it get to him.

Finally, she asks if he's coming back home for Easter. Because Stars Hollow, years after he left, is finally home for him too. He says he's hoping to.

'I'm driving,' She tells him, 'I could pick you up on the way if you want, we could make it a road trip?'

It adds a few hours to the already long drive for her, Philly's not quite on the way, he knows. But he doesn't own a car, not for a while now, because there's no need in the city, so he'd have to take the bus otherwise. Plus, there's no reason not to. They're friends, that's the whole point, right?

She's leaving Thursday mid-day, driving back Monday, but they'll talk about it later. He'll call her a couple days before, and they'll sort it out then.

* * *

It's only after they hang up that Jess thinks about which way things have turned when they've been left alone as of late. Or honestly, ever. Just the two of them alone never got up to much that Nancy Reagan would have approved of.

Not thinking, as he's been doing since the last time she left him, years ago at the open house, caused them to end up in bed together last time. Because that's what he had wanted, she had wanted, they both still want. Maybe not thinking is not the best policy.

Several hours in a car, alone together, it's going to be interesting, he thinks.

**A/N - I know this update is really really late, and plus without the promised Lorelai reaction, which should be aluded to at the least in the next chapter. Since my last update, I've been travelling to Madagascar, which was beyond awesome - so I haven't just been slacking (though that too.) Honestly, my life is a little nuts at the moment and I'm not a super motivated person, but I'm having fun doing this - and reading other people's stories too - so I'm keeping going. Updates are likely to be erratic though (Having said that, the next few chapters are planned and I'll probably have a new one tomorrow so you know.) Also this chapter is sort of a filler, but it kind of felt necessary and stuff. Now I'm just babbelling. As always, I still own nothing.**


	6. Chapter 6

Three months since she's been home and she misses it. But maybe now, after years, she has closer to a normal relationship with her home town. There are ghosts everywhere there, and the rest of the world is open and unexplored. So different from that first day at Yale when she called Lorelai crying, she's no longer needs them like she did before.

She'll likely get there and realise what she's really missing is being five, ten, fifteen, before life got complicated, before she made mistakes and failed to live up to the town princess in earnest, before she became a person, in the way she is now, who was messy and unpredictable and fucked up things. She'll realise what she misses most is not needing anything outside the town limits of sleepy Stars Hollow.

But it's been too long, so at the moment, she's adamant that in missing home, she's really missing Stars Hollow, present day. Which she is, a little, in fairness.

Picking up Jess is adding an hour and a half, at least, to the trip. But it makes more sense than them both going separately, she tells herself, and her mom, when she asked. Maybe Jess is a bad idea. Maybe he's always been a bad idea, but it hasn't stopped her in the past and there's no point now. And anyway, it's not worth analysing too much. She's too tired and there's too much between them to bother.

* * *

His phone buzzes as he's buying a cup of coffee. She's around the block from Truncheon. He picks her up a coffee too. Gilmores need coffee like Marianos need to run. Although maybe not anymore.

But he'd had to get out of Truncheon that evening, so he'd walked the four blocks to the dinner that reminded him a little of Luke's, but more of years of drifting. Nothing special, but there was something comforting about that.

Nobody had said anything to him directly, but Matt and Chris have been acting strangely all day. They think it's a bad idea, anything to do with Rory. Jess isn't sure how much they know, how much they've pieced together from a couple choice moments of drunken despair over the years, but he's guessing he's painted a less than rosy picture of her, of them together. They know it's none of their business though, and they don't really do girl talk, the three of them. So instead they've just been quietly disapproving all day.

But it's not the big deal that they think it is. In fact, it's good, because he's not sure he would have made it back without the ride. He would have meant to, but something would have gotten in the way. He wouldn't have gotten back without her, but he wasn't going back for her. There was a distinction, but it was too complicated to explain to them, to anyone. Actually, there was always that distinction. So much he couldn't have done without her, but still hadn't done just because of her. But she got it.

He was going back because of Luke, a guy who claimed to hate kids and yet had ended up parenting several, him and Rory and April and god knows how many to come with him and Lorelai. And he was going back because Liz was there, and even though she'd only really been a mother to him in the biological sense, even though he'd had to raise himself in whatever hellish world she'd collected that month, he couldn't really blame her. He still loved her, still wanted her to be happy. Even if it was with TJ, who still rivalled Kirk in Jess's mind for the most ridiculous person in the town. And also to see Doula, to rescue her, even for a couple hours, from the madness that was their family. It wasn't fair to inflict that on anyone.

He sees her car and walks over, sliding into her passenger seat, he says 'Coffee.'

'Bless you, good man,' She says, in her ridiculous Gilmore tone reserved for food related praise.

* * *

He's messing with her stereo and she's arguing her case on The Burrow.

'But its 75 pages long!' he keeps saying, 'The point was kind of made by the tenth.'

She shakes her head, 'And it was made better by the end. Just cause Hemmingway didn't believe in discription!'

'It didn't have an end!' He shoots back, 'You sift through that all and then Kafka dies and the story never ends.'

And so they descend again, as she claims it didn't need to be finished to be worthwhile; maybe there's a poetic strength in that. He hates poetry.

Their only consistency lies in these literary battles, and it's comforting.

Flicking through the CD's she's got in her glove compartment, they're talking about translations now, when he abruptly changes subject:

'Sing Sing Death House?' He questions, pulls it out and flips it over, reading the tracklist.

'Ah,' She had forgotten it was in there, 'Good album, that's all.'

It feels strange now, to have it in her car, a reminder of their past. That album is her senior year, 2002, and him. She'd fished it out of her Jess box when she'd moved a couple of months ago, and she realised she'd missed it, that the memories weren't painful anymore. And it really was a good album.

Thoughts of back then have left a lull in the conversation, and he knows that they're headed somewhere heavy if the situation's not saved soon. They've still got three hours, more in holiday traffic, so they can't afford it now.

'And it's next to The Bangles because?' He asks, steering away from deeper waters.

She laughs, 'Favourites all go together.'

'You're crazy,' He replies. He's shaking his head, sure, but he's smiling too.

'And you love it,' She shoots back, the words out before she realises what the words are.

They seem equally shocked. Freudian slip. To be addressed at a later date, if at all, she thinks. She's watching the road, and he's watching her.

'Put The Distillers on,' She says, just to say something, and he slides the CD into the stereo.

The moment passes, and then, before too long, they are back to normal, animated and arguing about something new.

The car drives on, out of Pennsylvania, filled with debate, the relaxed feel of half way home at last, and the slight undercurrent of ignored reminiscence.

**A/N - I don't really have anything to say, but that's never stopped me from talking before. Rambling - a habbit I share with the Gilmores. However I tend to be less amusing and more irritating. But there's life - we can't all be written by ASP. Anyway. I just wanted to say, to everyone who's reading/ reviewing/ following. You're all lovely and make me happy :) **


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